Since my visit last week to Paris, I’ve come down with a sinus infection. The same thing happened the last time I visited Paris, leading Jason to shrug and mutter “Paris syndrom,” as if that’s what I get for leaving the village. That’s basically the opinion of all the villagers (myself included), but luckily it’s not too bad. Gigi happened to have a pile of antibiotics to share, and the old lady Jeanine down the street (by the way, there’s only one street in Le Vignaud) gave me some tablets that she says will make anything feel a little better, and also help me sleep. Self-medication is always more fun when it’s done in a foreign language.
Some family members have been concerned about my future. About how I will Be An Adult. Honestly I’m not too worried about it, but to show that I am at least giving it some thought I have come up with a goal I’d like to accomplish by the time I’m 30. This was inspired by a dream induced by Jeanine’s mysterious meds. And, all my dear aged relatives, by the time I’m 30, in those eight years, I will ride an elephant. Don’t know where, under what circumstances, but that is my goal for adulthood.
The last time I rode an elephant was when I was about 4. I remember we were visiting my mom’s father, probably in New York, and while most of my memories are actually from photographs and I don’t recall what my dress looked like I remember how the dress felt. And I know that on that day I also rode an elephant.
Back to the business at hand, everyone will rejoice in the knowledge that I finally got new pants, and these are good ones. Incidentally, almost the same as Gigi’s pants. They’re fuscia sateen and when I skipped out to the bread truck this morning for my croissants the elderly neighbors didn’t much know what to say, although the various chickens milling about in the street were attracted. I’m sure they just chalked it up to the eccentricities of Americans. The old man across the street was feeling pretty chatty (or should I say the hue of my pants whipped him into a conversational frenzy), but the morning air’s sociability was thwarted by my utter inability to understand a sigle word he said. I felt like talking, but I didn’t feel like doing it in French. My brain just was not going that way; I guess I was too distracted by the bag of croissants I held and the baguette I’d stuck under my arm.
And speaking of Americans, Izzy just re-arrived in Le Vignaud, so now we are three. Gigi has gone up to England for a few days so I am holding down the Gueret fort, making sure her apartment maintains that nice lived-in atmosphere. It’s been too cold and rainy for bathing in the lake, so I’ve made good use of Gigi’s shower. And her place actually has a roof, so there’s no dirt blowing in or rain dripping down from that giant hole above the attic. So with my new pants and my clean feet, I’m starting to feel like a city girl again, the city of Gueret (which is funny for those who have seen Gueret; it’s like Metairie but it’s my metropolis). We’ll just see how the pants match the backpack.